


dust

by sealestial



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 01:31:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9359522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sealestial/pseuds/sealestial
Summary: Keith jolts awake sometimes, feeling like his mouth is full of dust and his lungs are coated in dirt and the redredrock of the Arizona desert.





	

Keith jolts awake sometimes, feeling like his mouth is full of dust and his lungs are coated in dirt and the red _red_ rock of the Arizona desert. He always has to cough, despite breathing nothing but the clean recycled air of the castle-ship, because he can _taste_ the desert dryness at the back of his throat—can almost feel the unforgiving sun beating down upon his back. His breathing is staggered, disjointed, as he tries to forget how many days he spent amongst nothing but sand, rock, and the occasional lizard. But with the memories of the desert come the memories of _desperation;_ the feeling of surety that Shiro was alive, the anger at the Garrison, at the world who believed what they said, the tugging sensation between his lungs that led him into the high rocks a few dozen miles from his shack.

He remembers too much of the sand that got everywhere, the grit that clung to his bloody palms when he climbed too far, did too much on those high rocks. No matter how much he swallows, no matter how much water he drinks, he may never stop tasting the dust. Maybe it became part of him at some point. Maybe the desert had seen him as familiar—as a person left with nothing but a _tug_ and whatever faith he could still scrape together. Maybe the tiny grains of sand had seeped through his skin and down into his bones, filling up the places where he was cracking and crumbling after Kerberos. After Shiro.

When he wakes up like this, with the desert in his head, it takes him a long time to remember that he’s no longer living in the shack. Half the night if he’s alone, half an hour if he’s with Shiro. And Shiro asks, because Shiro _always asks_ about Keith, but he’s usually at a loss with how to answer. Keith’s never been terribly eloquent, and he just—he can’t describe the way the desert took him for a year or the possibility that there’s still something of him left behind in that dust-coated doorway.

“Dreamed about being in the shack again,” is what he ends up saying to Shiro. And _God_ , he will never get used to the kindness that’s still so abundant in Shiro’s eyes even after the hell he lived through. (He might never get used to that sheer amount of affection being directed at him, either.) Keith knows that no matter how many times this happens, he’ll always shiver when Shiro’s hands slip under his shirt and rub soothing circles into the tense muscles of his lower back.

“You’re not there anymore, Keith.” Shiro murmurs against his temple and—

And.

Shiro never tastes like dust.

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is [here!](http://sealestial.tumblr.com)


End file.
